


I didn't know what I was looking for (and come to think, I wasn't looking at all.)

by barthelme



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Bartender Armie, Expect nothing but dirty talk and rough sex for a year out of me, Fluff, Happy Ending, Imagine Armie looks like he did in Wounds, M/M, Meet-Cute, Nick and his mustache, The amount of cheese in this fic is overwhelming for me, Valentine's Day, Wounds: the best porn ever made
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:09:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22730167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barthelme/pseuds/barthelme
Summary: Timmy is not a fan of Valentine's Day until maybe, possibly, he is?
Relationships: Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer
Comments: 104
Kudos: 356





	I didn't know what I was looking for (and come to think, I wasn't looking at all.)

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY, LOVES.   
I hope y'all got laid.

A bit after nine, Timmy decides Valentine’s Day is stupid. 

It’s stupid because the guy was supposed to be wearing a red button up and jeans. Supposed to meet him at the bar around 8:15ish and he was supposed to like classic literature, comedies, and dogs. 

They’d messaged for fucking _weeks_ and this guy was supposed to be changing Timmy’s opinion on Valentine’s Day but he was definitely not because it’s a bit after nine and Timmy slaps some bills on the table and tells the hostess on the way out, “Tell the waitress I’m sorry.” 

Because he _is_ sorry. He’s sorry she had to watch him sip two drinks excruciatingly slowly while he checked his phone. Glanced at the door. He’s sorry she probably realized immediately that he was about to be stood up. He’s sorry she had to answer his pathetic, “Hey, is there any chance my date was seated at a different table?” question not once, not twice, but three fucking times.

He’s sorry, the adjective filling all four walls of a box. He’s regretful, he’s apologetic, he’s dismal, he’s pitiful.

Timmy walks across the street to a bar. 

He walks across the street to a bar with the sole intention of getting drunk and then stumbling home. Falling into bed and forgetting this stupid night happened. Wants it to happen sooner than later, so he leans across the bar and--forgive him, forgive him, he knows better than to do this, but he’s two drinks into a lonely night so he’s an idiot--and grabs the sleeve of the bartender. His fingers slipping under soft fabric, nails rubbing against tanned skin and muscle and--

“What the fuck do you--” the bartender starts to ask. Sharp blue eyes focus on Timmy. Soften to a haze of sea. He swallows and licks his lips. Gives Timmy a quick once over. “Want? A beer?”

Timmy nods and slips onto a bar stool. 

“Might as well pour two,” he notes. 

The bartender pauses for a moment. Swallows, and his neck is thick and Timmy--

Timmy doesn’t want to think about it. 

“That bad?” 

Timmy nods. 

“Valentine’s date?” the bartender asks. Grabs two glasses and asks, “You care what beer?”

Timmy shakes his head and grins as the guy picks two different beers. Pours them simultaneously. Slides them across the bar.

“So, what made it a bad date?” he asks. 

Timmy scoffs. Shrugs. “It wasn’t even bad,” he admits, taking a sip of the darker of the two beers. “He just didn’t show up.”

The guy pushes off of the counter behind him and says, “Well, he’s dumb.” Leans his elbows on the bar and Timmy is able to see the slight creases at the corner of his eyes. The paleness of his scalp compared to the tan of his forehead. “Was he hot?”

Timmy shrugs and looks away. Stares at a line of clean beer glasses under the bar. “I guess.” Looks back and asks, “What’s your name?”

“Armie,” the bartender offers.

“Timmy.” They both smile and Armie offers up his hand and Timmy is quick to shake it. Stumbles over his words as he apologizes, “I’m sorry for grabbing you, by the way. That was totally--”

But Armie waves him off like it’s not a big deal, even though he’d looked like he was about to punch Timmy when he first looked at him. 

He doesn’t necessarily accept the apology, but he does change the subject. Says, “Next round is on the house if you show me his profile.”

Timmy laughs and pulls out his phone.

_____

Timmy isn’t drunk but he is very happy. Happy with the way Armie has been talking to him all night, with the way he’s been hovering in his space and smiling, always smiling. 

(He’s ignoring the customers, and the other bartender--a tall brunette with what has to be an ironic mustache--keeps rolling his eyes at Armie when he has to walk around him to grab a glass, a straw, a lemon wedge.)

“You know, I think the _last_ time I enjoyed Valentine’s Day was like, fifth grade. My mom made me heart shaped pancakes before school,” he says. There was more to the day than that, but he’s already blushing at the way Armie is smiling at him as though he’s picturing Timmy as an eleven year old, eating heart-shaped pancakes in his Spiderman pajamas.

“I think you’ve put too much pressure on the _idea_ of Valentine’s Day,” Armie says. Pushes a glass of water at Timmy. “Like, it is literally just another day, Tim.”

“Timmy,” he corrects and laces his fingers around the glass of water. The buzz in his head and teeth is pleasant and makes him not want to take a drink, but he also doesn’t know what to do with his tongue, so he licks his lips. 

Armie rolls his eyes. “Timmy,” he corrects.

Timmy isn’t drunk, but he’s happy when he leans closer to the counter and says, “I asked for another beer.”

Armie shrugs. “Did you?” Reaches across the bar to tap the underside of Timmy’s chin. “Drink up, Lush.”  
___

Ironic Mustache Bartender has disappeared in the back. Asked Armie, “Can you watch the bar while I take the garbage out?” 

Armie had nodded and rolled his eyes. Said, “I’m taking it out of the tip jar,” but then went right back to talking to Timmy. “I mean, I hate the mere _idea_ of having a first date on Valentine’s Day. That’s way too much pressure,” he explains. “And, you’re surrounded by all these people who are in love and being cutesy while you’re struggling to figure out if you should even go in for a kiss.”

Timmy is still slightly buzzed and his lips can’t keep back his opinion. “You always go for the kiss.”

Armie raises his eyebrows and his lips look like they’re aching to question him. Instead, he says, “Suddenly, the sleeve grabbing makes sense.”

Timmy rolls his eyes and reaches across the bar to lightly push Armie’s shoulder. “I mean like, you always go for the kiss if they seem into you and you’re into them.”

“Sure, sure,” Armie laughs. Calls over his shoulder, “Hey, Nick, keep an eye on Timmy out here! He’s grabbing shirts and stealing kisses!”

“Shut up,” Timmy says. “You know what I meant. And it’s _true_. You always go for the kiss--if you both want it,” he interjects pointedly, “Because a date can be amazing, but if they’re a bad kisser, what’s the point?”

“Are you a _good_ kisser?” Armie asks and Timmy feels very sober all of a sudden. He finishes his water and pushes it towards Armie, who takes the glass. Walks to the sink and starts to wash it in the soapy water. 

“I’ve never kissed myself,” Timmy says because it’s true and he feels like saying the words, ‘Yes, I am a good kisser,’ will just give Armie more fodder to tease him. 

Armie rinses the glass and sets it on the drying rack with all the other dishes. Reaches his hand into the sink until he’s elbow deep in suds. The other bartender must have turned the music off because the bar goes silent except for the gurgle of the water draining. 

Armie grabs a towel and is wiping off his arm, opening his mouth to speak when the other bartender walks through the door. His cheeks are flushed from the cold and he looks from Armie to the sink. Shrugs and says, “Thanks, man,” like Armie was doing him a favor and not just his job. 

“I should probably get going.” Timmy slides off the stool. Braces his hands on the bar but is glad to have steady feet under him. The water was a good idea. “Sorry for talking your ear off--”

Armie tosses the towel at the other bartender and blurts out, “Let me walk you home. It’s late and--”

“I only live a few blocks away,” Timmy says. 

Armie smiles. “Great. Then it’s not a big deal for me to walk you there. Let me grab my coat.” 

Timmy instinct is to argue or just _leave_ the moment Armie turns around and walks into the back, but instead he starts to button his coat. “What do I owe you? I hope you didn’t have to stay just for--” he starts to apologize to the other bartender, who cuts him off quickly. 

“It’s on the house,” he says, then leans over and whispers, “Do whatever you want with this information that you definitely didn’t learn from me: Armie fucking _hates_ Valentine’s Day and he wasn’t working tonight. He just stopped in to grab his paycheck.”

Then, Armie is back, slipping a thick black coat on and saying, “See you tomorrow, Nick,” and patting the other bartender on the back before coming out from around bar and smiling at Timmy. Without the bar between them, he seems bigger. Broader. 

Timmy nods and they head for the door.

_____

Timmy has no idea what to do with the information from Nick. First that Armie hates Valentine’s Day yet stood at the bar talking to Timmy about Valentine’s Day all night. Stood at the bar where he works but wasn’t _working_ to talk to Timmy. Like, he’s not stupid. He gets that Armie is at least somewhat attracted to him. But what is this? A way to pass a shitty night? A quick fuck and then a “see you later!”

A date?

Timmy tucks his head down against the wind and says, “You looked like you were going to hit me when I grabbed your sleeve.” 

Armie laughs and bumps his shoulder against Timmy’s as they walk. “I wasn’t going to hit you,” he assures. “Maybe yell, but then I saw your sad face and couldn’t even do that.”

“Oh, it was the sad face that saved me? Not the fact that I’m like a hundred pounds smaller than you?”

“A hundred--” Armie stops in the middle of the sidewalk, forcing people to walk around him. “You think I weigh a hundred pounds more than you?” He’s grinning, so Timmy shrugs and brushes by him. 

“Give or take,” he teases when Armie chases after him. “Anyways, if I hadn’t looked sad, what would you have done?”

Their elbows bump and Timmy bites his lip when their knuckles momentarily brush together. “Well, I probably would have just offered to buy you a drink instead of trying to cheer you up first.” 

“Oh? Drinking on the job?” 

And then Armie’s linking their fingers, rubbing his thumb along the back of Timmy’s hand. Timmy tightens his lips, trying to fend off a smile that will probably take over his face. “What are they going to do? Fire me?” He squeezes TImmy’s hand and asks, quietly, his voice almost covered up by a passing car, “This is okay, right?”

Timmy nods. Leans over and nudges his forehead against Armie’s shoulder. “More than okay,” he admits. 

“Good,” Armie says, then continues. “Anyways, I would have offered to buy you a drink. Used some lame pick-up line so I could see your smile at least once in case you turned me down. And then, I would have sat next to you and been really obnoxious. Asking you a lot of questions because I want to get to know you but also so that you’d be distracted.”

“Distracted?” Timmy swallows. They stop at a crosswalk for a few moments until the light switches. 

Armie hums. “So that you maybe wouldn’t notice when I moved my stool a bit closer. Maybe wouldn’t notice if I put my hand on your knee.”

Timmy laughs because he’s not sure what else to do. “My knee?”

Armie asks, “Your thigh, then?”

“I mean, I grabbed your sleeve. The least I can do is let you grope my thigh.”

Armie stops and Timmy wants to ask how he knows, but then he realizes Armie is just randomly stopping. Of course he can’t know that he’s standing in front of Timmy’s apartment. His decision to stand feet from the entrance is, apparently, just a chance. “I said nothing about groping, for the record.” He tugs Timmy to face him and brings his free hand up to tentatively touch Timmy’s cheek. His fingers are cold, but Timmy leans against them.”I think this is your move,” Armie says, “So, I hope you don’t mind.”

And then he’s leaning down slowly, giving Timmy every chance to push him away. To tell him goodnight or turn his cheek or ask, “What the hell are you doing?”

Instead, Timmy leans up to meet Armie’s mouth, not hesitating to part his lips the moment they meet. To trace his tongue along Armie’s Cupid’s bow and then press his lips together to cradle his upper lip while Armie opens his mouth against Timmy’s plump lower lip. 

It’s quick but Timmy knows immediately he’d ask Armie on a second date.

_If_ this were a date. What even is this?

Timmy pulls back and whispers, “This is me,” in reference to the apartment building. 

Armie gives him a confused look and says, “Well, ‘me’ is a pretty good kisser.”

“I know,” Timmy shrugs. Steps back and points at the building. “But, I meant like, this is me. I live here.”

And Armie blushes and it’s probably the cutest thing Timmy has ever seen. “Oh,” he says and steps back. Lets go of Timmy and shoves his hands in his coat pockets. “Well, you weren’t joking about living close.”

Timmy nods and back up. Reaches in his pocket for his keys and bites his lips. Wants to ask if Armie would like to come up for a drink. A beer, water, coffee, anything. Doesn’t want to ruin the night so he says, “Thank you for tonight. It actually turned out better than I would have--”

“I’ll say yes if you ask,” Armie says. “But if you don’t want to ask, I’m going to walk home wishing I’d given you my number and hoping that you show up at the bar tomorrow when I’m working.”

Timmy twirls his keys around his fingers and stares at Armie’s feet. Already knows the answer, which almost makes it harder to ask, “Do you want to come upstairs?”

_____

The door closes behind them and Timmy turns on the light. He’d cleaned this morning, assuming there was a chance he’d be bringing his date back here. “You can put your coat there,” he gestures at the kitchen counter. “I haven’t gotten around to hanging the coat hooks,” he laughs, gesturing at a plaque of hooks that leans against the wall by the door. 

Armie shrugs out of his coat and tosses it on the counter. Watches Timmy do the same and asks, “How long have you lived here?”

“Two years,” Timmy grins. Admits, “Two years and I have nowhere to hang my coat, no dining table, and no bed frame.”

Armie just stares at him for a second and it feels like the last good Valentine’s Day admission again. Stares at him and gives him a once over like he did a millisecond after looking like he was about to hit Timmy for grabbing his sleeve. 

Timmy swallows. “Is that going to be a problem?”

Armie reaches out. Touches Timmy’s hip and says, “I don’t need a place for my coat and I’m not hungry.” Tugs Timmy closer and presses a kiss to his forehead, his temple. Whispers in his ear, “And I can suck your cock anywhere. I don’t need a bed for that.” 

And then he’s kissing Timmy. Sliding his hand to the back of Timmy’s scalp so he can cradle his head while he slots their mouths together. Snakes his other arm around Timmy’s back and Timmy just gives in. Lets Armie hold him and kiss him, let’s him steer them towards the couch. Stumbling over one anothers feet, the edge of the rug. Timmy’s knees buckling when they collide with the edge of the couch, forcing Armie to make the decision to hold Timmy up or collapse on the couch with him.

Timmy is very glad when Armie makes the decision to topple onto the cushions with him. To straddle his thighs and keep kissing him. Pulling back enough to ask, “Do you want to stop? Do you want to slow--”

“No, no, no,” Timmy shakes his head and says, “I was promised a blow job, Mr.--” and then he stops because he doesn’t know Armie’s last name and that turns him on. That he feels this close to someone to be able to joke while their cocks harden beneath fabric, that he feels safe underneath them but has no idea what their last name is. 

It turns him on even more knowing that he wants to know his last name. Wants to know it like his own and write it with ease. Wants it to be in the back of his mind and on his tongue. 

“Hammer,” Armie supplies. Places open mouth kisses along Timmy’s neck and scoots off the couch to kneel between Timmy’s legs. Slides his hands up Timmy’s thighs, then back down to his knees. “Can I?” he asks, brings his fingers to the button of Timmy’s jeans. 

Timmy shakes his head and Armie’s hands are gone. He’s sitting back and his mouth is opening, a question ready to pour out. An apology and--”I’d rather we go to the bedroom," Timmy explains.

And Armie’s body relaxes. He nods. Asks, “You mean your mattress on the floor?”

“You did say you could suck my cock anywhere,” Timmy teases and pushes Armie away. Stands up and pulls his shirt off. Drops it to the ground and doesn’t have to turn to know Armie is following him to the bedroom. 

Following his lead and pulling his shirt off, the soft thud of it on the floor making Timmy’s stomach tighten. He wants to see Armie, but doesn’t turn around. Pushes open his bedroom door and undoes his pants. Pushes them to the floor. Steps out of them and then turns around. Knows his cock is straining against his boxers, knows there’s no point in keeping them on, so he waits for Armie to be in the doorway--

(And, _fuck_ the sight of Armie shirtless with his hands making quick work of his belt is enough to make Timmy want to dive under the covers. But then Armie’s hands are slowing down and his eyes are scanning Timmy’s chest, his legs. Watching as Timmy pushes his boxers down, down. 

Licking his lips when Timmy’s cock springs free and then taking two quick steps across the room. Bracketing Timmy’s hips with his palms and pulling him to the mattress. Straddling his hips and running his hands down Timmy’s sides. Whispering, “You’re beautiful,” before leaning down to put his tongue against Timmy’s neck. To lick a line up to his jaw and nibble at the harsh ridge.

“Take your pants off,” Timmy says as he arches against Armie’s mouth which has found Timmy’s sternum. Lower still, his belly. Kisses harder than intended as he shifts to push his own pants off his hips. “I want to--” and Timmy almost says, ‘Want to see that fat cock,’ but everything has been so light, so gentle, so new so far and he stutters. Says, “--taste you, Armie Hammer.”

Armie chuckles against Timmy’s hipbone. Wraps a hand around his cock and says, “Well, I think you were promised a--”

“We can multi-task,” Timmy says. Reaches down to thread his fingers through Armie’s hair. Tugs him up and rolls them so Armie is flat on the mattress. 

Takes a moment to kiss Armie’s cheek before toppling to the side. Pivoting so he’s close enough to lick a stripe along Armie’s cock. So his own cock presses against Armie’s neck for a moment before Armie gets with the program and turns on his side. Grips the base of Timmy’s cock and whispers, “Fuck, I like you so much already, Timmy,” before swirling his tongue around the tip of Timmy’s cock and then swallowing him down. 

“Good,” Timmy responds and follows suit, wrapping his hand around Armie’s thick cock and trying to take as much of him in his mouth as he can. And it’s weird. Weird in a good way. Weird in a lazy Sunday morning way. Timmy doesn’t feel like he needs to choke on Armie’s cock. Doesn’t feel as though he needs to prove himself, like he needs to give Armie the best blowjob he’s ever had. 

Feels as though he can just enjoy the slide of Armie’s cock on his tongue. Revel in Armie’s mouth on him, his giant hands tentatively touching TImmy’s balls, cupping his ass. 

It feels like the first time but it also feels like deja vu as he tests what Armie likes and discovers he already knew, he already knows. 

Armie comes first, warns Timmy with a choked, “I’m, Timmy, you don’t have to--”

But, god, he wants to, so Timmy sucks him hard. Squeezes the backs of Armie’s thighs and swallows his come. 

Armie returns the favor. Rolling Timmy on his back and swallowing around his cock. Reaching up to flick his thumb over Timmy’s left nipple, testing a gentle pinch which is enough to push Timmy over the edge. To have him reaching down to grip Armie’s hair, the only warning before he arches his hips and comes on Armie’s tongue, his lips. 

____

Moments later, they’re under the covers. Limbs tangled together and Timmy’s head buried in Armie’s shoulder. “You can use my toothbrush, if you want,” Timmy mumbles. 

“Mmhm,” Armie agrees, but he blinks once, twice, and then his breathing is steady. 

Timmy doesn’t even know if Armie is asleep, because he’s already dreaming. 

_____

In the morning, the mattress is cold and Timmy is alone. He blinks at the ceiling and wants to pull the covers over his head. Wants to just bury in the memory of the night before. The memory of Armie’s body, his cock. His soft lips and gentle teasing.

But then there’s the abrupt slam of a cupboard and a muttered, “Who the fuck doesn’t…” and Armie’s still here. He’s here and in Timmy’s kitchen. 

Fuck, Timmy hopes he hasn’t realized that Timmy’s cupboard are filled with paper plates and mismatched cups. 

He crawls off the mattress and goes to the dresser. Finds a pair of boxers and slips them on. Makes his way to the kitchen and--

Armie has a towel wrapped around his waist. His hair is wet and pushed back from his face. He looks at home and something in Timmy’s chest tightens. 

The kitchen counter is a mess. The eggs are out. A bowl. Sugar, butter and--

“Do you seriously not own flour _or_ a whisk?” Armie asks. 

Timmy shakes his head. Asks, “What are you doing?”

Armie rolls his eyes. Leans back against the counter and crosses his arms over his chest. God, his chest. “I was trying to make you heart pancakes,” he explains. “But you live like a depressed divorcé. You seriously don’t have a coffee pot, either?” 

Timmy shakes his head. 

Armie sighs and pushes away from the counter. Makes his way across the room to stand in front of Timmy. Cups his face in his hands and says, “Timmy--” he pauses and cocks his head to the side. 

“Chalamet,” Timmy supplies. 

“Timmy Chalamet,” Armie continues. “Will you please take a shower so I can take you on a date to get breakfast?”

Then, he leans down to kiss Timmy, morning breath be damned. 

“Of course,” Timmy whispers against Armie’s mouth before retreating to the bathroom. Listening to Armie put away half the ingredients for pancakes. 

_Fuck, he was going to make heart shaped pancakes,_ Timmy thinks as he stares in the mirror. Fights back a grin for a moment, then lets it take over his face. 

A bit before nine, Timmy decides that Valentine’s Day isn’t the worst thing ever.

**Author's Note:**

> bartbarthelme on tumblr.


End file.
